“His system is far more able to search quickly than the computer you have here.”
Which was a given, simply because Stane’s computer was megapowerful and worth megabucks, where as my poor little thing barely had the power to cope with the tax and wage tasks of the restaurant. I really would have to buy a new one when all this was over and things got back to normal.
“Or as normal as they can be given you carry my child,” Azriel murmured. “You have no idea how desperately I desire to see you round and fat.”
“Round I can cope with. Fat, not so much.” I grinned, dropped a kiss on his lips, then said, “To Stane’s, please, driver.”
He wrapped his arms tighter around me; then his energy surged around us and in no time flat we were standing inside the foyer of Stane’s West Street shop. It housed not only his electronics business, but his living quarters and black market business as well. The camera above the door buzzed into action the minute we appeared, swinging around to track our movements. Not that we could go far—the shimmer of light surrounding the small entrance was warning enough that his containment shield was active. Azriel could—and had, in the past—deliver us upstairs, where Stane’s computer “bridge” and living quarters were, but the last time we’d done that, our sudden appearance had just about given Stane a heart attack.
“Hey, Stane, it’s Risa and Azriel.” I smiled up at the camera. “Turn off the shield so we can come up.”
“Hey,” he replied, his warm tones sounding slightly tinny through the small speaker near the camera. “Welcome back. I was beginning to think you’d abandoned me.”
“What, you’ve grown so used to me bugging you daily with urgent tasks that you feel lost without me?”
The shimmering field surrounding us died, allowing us to walk toward the stairs at the rear of the shop. Of course, this meant we had to go right through the middle of all the shelves holding the tons of dusty junk that were little more than a cover for his real business—black marketeering. And no one, not even Stane’s mom the last time she’d been down here, had dared to clean this room for fear of suffocating in the resulting dust storm.
“Well, not so much you,” he said, voice amused. “It’s more the champagne you supply with each task.”
I grinned. “You, Stane, are becoming a lush.”
“And damn proud of it,” he agreed. “Come on up, folks. I just made coffee.”
“Excellent.”
I bounded up the steps. He met me at the top, a grin on his face and a coffee in his hand. “Here you go,” he said, honey-colored eyes amused as he offered me the cup. “It’s even the good stuff.”
“You have good stuff?” I said, feigning shock. “Since when?”
“Since I made a most excellent sale of the latest in limpet lasers.”
Limpet lasers were small but powerful lasers that clung to the palm of your hand, and could be fired through various finger movements. “They aren’t exactly a new development.”
He stepped to one side, then swept an arm forward, ushering me on. “These were, trust me.”
I stepped past him, not bothering to ask what made them special. Just as I didn’t ask where he got them. Sometimes it was better not to know.
Unlike the lower portion of his building, this floor was pristine and dust-free. It had to be, because dust damaged computer systems, expensive electronics, and possibly whatever other black market items he happened to have, all of which were kept on this floor. Stane himself, however, could only be described as a mess, with unkempt brown hair, an ill-fitting blue sweater with holes in the elbows, and wrinkled jeans. But at least he was neither dusty nor dirty.
I glanced around the open living and kitchen area, hoping to see Tao. He wasn’t here, and his scent was little more than a hint in the air, suggesting he hadn’t been here for at least twenty-four hours. I frowned. “I thought Tao was staying with you.”
“He is,” Stane said, expression suddenly grim. “Or rather, he was.”
I swore softly. “When did he disappear?”
“Early yesterday morning.”
He hadn’t been sighted at the café in the last twenty-four hours, either—something I knew because I’d checked when I was there. I swore again and thrust a hand through my hair. “You tried tracing him?”
“Of course I have.” His voice was filled with anger, but I knew it wasn’t actually aimed at me. Rather, it was a result of frustration and worry. “There’s nothing. His phone is sitting in the spare bedroom, as is his wallet. And he hasn’t contacted any of his other friends.”
Meaning, more than likely, the fire elemental he’d consumed to save Ilianna had taken control of his body again. “How was he the last time you saw him?”
“Strung out. Fiery.” Stane shook his head. “I’ve seen him play with fire before. I mean, he’s pyrokinetic, so that’s not unusual in and of itself. But this time . . . it was bleeding from his skin, Risa. There was no way it was controlled.”
“Fuck,” I muttered.
“Yeah,” Stane said. “I tried to get him into an icy shower—I figured it couldn’t hurt—but he practically threw me across the room, then ran down the stairs. By the time I got up and went after him, he’d disappeared.”
And no doubt headed once more for the sacred site in Macedon, the place where the fire elemental within Tao had been created.
With the clock counting down on Hunter’s deadline, you haven’t the time to chase after him, Azriel warned softly. If the fire elemental is in control, then there might be no bringing him back this time. Nor will I allow you to endanger yourself again by touching him while the elemental holds sway. It might just kill you this time.
Which technically wasn’t a problem given that I’d just become a dark angel. But that wasn’t something I actually wanted; I wanted to live a full and happy life here on Earth first. Wanted to bring my child into this world, not the other.
But Azriel was right. I really couldn’t afford to lose any time, even if it was a matter of minutes.
Let’s just hope he comes back from this, I said. He has before.
By this time, the elemental will have reached Macedon’s sacred site. And given the fire that created it still burns within that place, its very closeness to it may provide the creature with enough strength to completely block Tao out.
I know. Believe me, I know.
He smiled grimly, adding, Then you should also remember that I can’t get into that site, so it’s not as if I can even check whether he is there or not.
“Damn it!” I plonked down on a chair and watched as Stane resumed his usual position on his captain’s chair in front of his computer bridge.
“Yeah,” Stane said. “Can you get into that site and check that he’s there?”
“Maybe.” I hadn’t actually tried since I’d become a dark angel in waiting. But given that the place had banned reapers and Aedh from entry, it might just ban me now that I had both their energies running through me. “Only problem is I haven’t got the time to find out right now. I have a deadline and people will die if I don’t meet it.”
“Tao might die if you don’t,” Stane replied, grim faced.
“Don’t you think I fucking know that?” I took a deep breath and tried to calm the anger and fear running through me. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have responded like that. But the thing is, Hunter’s given me a twenty-four-hour deadline, and if I don’t come through with the key, she’s going to start killing people. People like Ilianna and Tao and you.”
He blinked. “Why would the psycho want me dead?”
“For the same reason she wants the keys to hell—for control. In your case, control of me. Or rather, my actions.” I took a sip of the coffee, noting somewhat absently that it was indeed the good stuff. “I have a choice, Stane. Save Tao and risk everyone else, or simply try to save everyone the best way I can.”
“Hell of a choice,” he muttered.
“Yeah, tell me about it.” I paused. “I don’t suppose you
want to evacuate the immediate area and go hide somewhere, do you?”
“I’m thinking you can probably guess the answer to that.” He patted the desks holding his range of light screens and keyboards with affection. “I’m not leaving my baby, and I can’t exactly pack her up with me. Besides, someone has to be here in case Tao does turn up.”
“What, no mention of a particular upcoming sale of the generous-to-your-bank-account but definitely black market type?”
He grinned. “Well, there might be a couple of sales in the works over the next couple of days that I can’t afford to walk away from, now that you mention it.”
I snorted. Of course there were. “It could be dangerous. I’ve already lost Jak to the bitch. I don’t want to lose anyone else.”
“Then I’ll install a secondary energy shield around all internal walls. Trust me, no one—not even a vampire hell-bent on destruction—will get past it.”
I hoped he was right. I didn’t want to lose Stane any more than I wanted to lose anyone else.
“So,” he said, grabbing his coffee, then swinging around to face me. “Do you want to tell me why you’re here, or do you wish to see my results first?”
I blinked. “On what?” To be honest, we’d asked Stane to do so many searches over the last few weeks that I’d totally lost track of them all.
“You know those index cards you swiped from the dead jeweler’s place?”
I nodded. We’d gone to the jeweler’s after discovering his maker’s mark on the antique silver cuff link we’d found in Lauren Macintyre’s Gold Coast home, hoping he’d be able to tell us whom he’d made it for. As per usual when it came to our sorceress, we’d been a couple of steps too far behind. Not only had she fled her Gold Coast home before we’d arrived there, but she’d also made a visit to the jeweler and slashed his throat from ear to ear. Which meant the index cards, with their list of client names, had become our only chance of possibly tracking down another of Lauren’s alternate identities—an almost impossible task given that she could take on both male and female personas.
“Well,” Stane continued, a pleased grin stretching his lips, “I found a connection between the jeweler, the names on the cards, and your mad sorceress.”
I smiled at his enthusiasm. He really was going to be lost when all this crap was over with and life got back to normal. “The connection being?”
“Harry Bulter.”
I blinked. For some reason, that name rang a bell. Then the connection hit and I sat up a little straighter. “Harry Bulter—as in, one of the names mentioned in John Nadler’s will?”
John Nadler had been the man behind the consortium that had bought up most of the land all around Stane’s shop. Not that Nadler—or rather, Lauren, because the real Nadler had been long dead by the time the buyout had happened—had wanted the land per se; he’d just wanted to control what lay underneath it—a major ley-line intersection. Such intersections were places of great power and could be used to manipulate time, reality, or fate. But they could also be used to create a rift between this world and the next, enabling those with enough power here on Earth to step onto the gray fields. And that’s exactly what Lauren had succeeded in doing, too, but only with the help of Lucian, a rebel Raziq with destruction plans of his own.
And to think I’d not only bedded that bastard, but trusted him, too. My instincts had been way, way off as far as he was concerned.
At least he was dead. At least he couldn’t do any more harm to anyone I cared about. Couldn’t rape or impregnate anyone else, as he had Ilianna, and more than likely the sorceress.
If she was pregnant, I thought suddenly, how would that affect her ability to take other forms? While face shifting shouldn’t hurt any child she carried, I had no idea whether attempting a full-body transformation would. I imagined it would be rather hard to disguise a rounded belly, as she wouldn’t be able to manipulate the flesh of the child within her. Even if it was little more than a few weeks old, it would have a soul and a power all its own. She could change her flesh, but not her child’s. Nor, I imagined, could she change the physical space that child used.
Maybe we’d better start looking for men who looked pregnant—although given the number of middle-aged men who seemed to have beer bellies these days, that might not be such an easy task.
“So Harry Bulter was one of the names on the index cards?” Azriel asked.
“No, of course not. That would be too easy.”
“Yeah, I guess it would,” I agreed, amused. “So how did you find him?”
“By following the connections.” Stane shook his head, something close to admiration in his expression. “I can tell you one thing—the bitch may be as mad as a hatter, but she certainly knows how to cover her tracks.”
A skill no doubt garnered from her association with Lucian, who’d been banished to Earth’s plane for centuries, and who’d had the time to learn not only the art of deception, but also, we suspected, that of dark magic.
“So how did you find her in the end?”
“By tracing back not only every single name, but all the traceable connections each name had.”
He spun around and flicked a finger across one of the light screens. An image appeared on the next screen—a tall, gray-haired gentleman with stern features and a somewhat forbidding nose. “This is Harrison Jantz, a stockbroker who has purchased several items from our dead jeweler. His address on file was Elizabeth Street in Sydney, right opposite Hyde Park.”
“Expensive,” I murmured. “He’s obviously a very good stockbroker.”
“Was a very good stockbroker,” Stane commented. “He was reported missing yesterday, after not showing up for work several days in a row.”
“Coincidence, or the sorceress simply killing off another of her identities?” Of course, it hardly mattered, given that she sure as hell seemed to have enough of them—but it was damn frustrating to once again be a step behind her. Though how she managed to keep track of them, let alone keep them all alive as viable identities, I had no idea.
If she is responsible for this man’s disappearance, Azriel commented, then she is well and truly out of hell.
A point I hadn’t even thought about. You’d think just once the fates would give us a break, I all but grouched. Just once. Is that too much to ask?
Apparently, he said, with a mental shrug. You’ll get used to it.
I bet I won’t. And they had better get used to me complaining. Azriel might be all stoic and accepting, but I wasn’t about to be. Not if this was the pattern they’d set for the rest of our lives together.
If they’d planned a “rest of our lives” for us, that was. I very much suspected that was still up in the air, especially given Azriel’s nonanswer earlier.
“I can’t tell you whether it was the real Jantz that was reported missing or the fake,” Stane said. “They did a search of his apartment, but there was no evidence of any sort of foul play. Nor has his body been found—and remember, Nadler’s corpse was found pretty quickly after our mad sorceress decided to shed the identity.”
“Is it common for Jantz to disappear like this?”
“No. According to the people who filed the missing persons report, it was extremely unprecedented for him to go away without at least informing one of them. I think we’d be wise to presume death.”
Totally wise. “So how did uncovering Jantz lead you to Bulter?”
“Ha. That’s where it gets interesting,” Stane said. “The apartment Jantz lived in is owned by a private consortium. As is usual with those sorts of companies, there are a couple executives who are responsible for securing targeted business, real estate, or whatever else the consortium might wish to purchase, and who play a central role in negotiations relating to all elements of the deal. It’s the consortium’s name on all legal documents rather than each investor.”
I nodded. “This is sounding very similar to the consortium Nadler set up.”
“That’s because it basically is. We
couldn’t find anything about that consortium because the paper trail led to a company that was listed offshore, and it’s damn near impossible to trace the details of who might be involved with offshore businesses.”
“But you’ve had a breakthrough,” I said, smiling.
“But I’ve had a breakthrough,” he echoed. “A mob called the International Consortium of Investigative Journalists has spent years sifting through millions of leaked documents and recently released an updated report on those involved with offshore accounts, trusts, etcetera. And one of the names in that report just happened to be Harry Bulter. And this,” he added, swinging around to grab a piece of paper from his desk, “is his address in Sydney.”
I glanced at the address and frowned. “He lives in the same building as Jantz?”
“No only the same building, but the same apartment. But, according to those who filed the missing persons report, Jantz lived alone and rarely had visitors.”
“Meaning Jantz was either in cahoots with Lauren, or she was simply using his name and face when it suited her.” I hesitated, my frown deepening. “Did Jantz have any special delivery instructions on his index card?”
“None—though some of the others have ‘pickup only’ noted on them, so that would suggest Jantz’s items were posted.”
“Then we definitely had better go investigate the apartment.” Jantz might be missing and presumed dead, but there could be a faint hope that he—or even Lauren, if he was involved with her in some way—had left something behind that would clue us in as to where Lauren might be.
It is a very faint hope, Azriel commented. Our sorceress has shown no inclination so far to leave things to chance.
Granted, but it’s not like we’ve got many other choices right now. And until we’d cut down the huge number of possibilities when it came to the placement of the final key, there wasn’t much we could do there, either. No matter how much Hunter might threaten or wish otherwise.
“So,” Stane said, “my news has been dealt with. What’s the next delicious puzzle you want me to solve?”